Chapter 12
Rory
Living-situation discussion aside, lunch went about as well as can be expected. Morgan was charming, toeing the line between friendly and flirting, but I’m pretty sure he was doing it just to get a rise out of me.
He smirked at me when the server cleared away all my unused forks.
Now, we’re following Grandma upstairs so Morgan can “meet Bartholomeow.”
As usual, Grandma is a few paces ahead of me and Morgan falls back to walk beside me.
“I guess we should have seen that moving-in thing coming, huh?”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a few paces, and then asks, “Do you really drive three hours each way?”
“Yup.”
“Where do you live?”
“Westchester.”
He whistles. “That is far.”
“Well, it wasn’t far from Grandma two retirement communities ago. She keeps finding reasons to move, though.”
He frowns.
“I used to visit once a week. She keeps hating the places.” I shrug. “She knew the consequences when she decided to move.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says, leaning in to whisper, “I have a guest bedroom.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I move in?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“Well, don’t worry, I’m not actually moving in.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
We get to Grandma’s apartment and she calls for her cat. “Help me find him, Rory.”
Grandma goes back to look in her bedroom, and I drop to my knees to look under the couch. Morgan wanders around, looking at Grandma’s things.
It’s a two-bedroom apartment, with a full kitchen and a balcony. There are pictures everywhere, and I’m in just about all of them.
“Who is this?” Morgan teases, pointing at the picture of me standing at the top of a slide on a playground with a bowl cut when I was about seven. My dad and sister are in the picture too, but in the background. “She looks like a handful.”
“You could help, you know.”
“I could,” he allows. “What does the cat look like?”
I glare at him over my shoulder while I move to look under the chair. “Why don’t you show me any cat you find and I’ll tell you if it’s the right one.”
Morgan laughs.
“Go check on top of the fridge.”
He goes around the corner just as Grandma comes back into the room.
I pop my head up. “Did you find him?”
“No. But I have something for you and your fiancé.”
“Morgan,” I call.
He comes into the living room. Bartholomeow is under Morgan’s arm like an awkward football, legs dangling and eyes bewildered. Morgan strokes his head with a finger and Bartholomeow’s ears twitch and a low growl emanates from his chest.
“Uhhh . . .” Morgan says. Bartholomeow has decided that his thirty seconds of affection from a stranger are up and launches himself from Morgan’s arms and streaks out of the room.
“Well, now you’ve met him,” Grandma remarks, just as she hands me a folded slip of paper.
I glance at Grandma. “What is this?”
She rolls her eyes. “Open it.”
Morgan stands at my side and peers over my shoulder as I unfold the paper.
I gasp and quickly fold it again. “Grandma!”
She thumps her cane. “It’s for the wedding. Don’t cash it until Friday, I have to move some money around.”
“Nope,” I say, handing it back to her. “We’re not having a wedding.”
“Like hell you’re not.”
I shake my head and jut out my chin. “We’re getting married at the courthouse. In a year.”
“Over my dead body! Literally! I could be dead by then.”
“We’re not going to get married on your timetable just because—”
“You think I’d want to miss your wedding like I missed your—”
“—you’ve got some morbid obsession with—”
“—parents’ then I obviously didn’t—”
We both snap our mouths shut when the check is ripped from my hand.
Morgan holds it up. “This is a generous gift, Mrs. Patterson, and Rory and I appreciate the gesture. But if this comes with strings attached, then we don’t want it.
When and where we get married is entirely up to Rory and me, and we will not tolerate any manipulation on your part, especially if you are going to fight with Rory about every single choice. ”
Holy shit.
I think my panties just melted.
Grandma stares at Morgan, who stares right back at her as if she’s not five whole feet of stubborn, brash, pain-in-the-ass old lady holding a weapon.
He may not realize how effectively she can wield that cane.
“Well,” Grandma finally says. She turns to me. “Fine. The money has no strings attached. You can use it for your wedding or your honeymoon or to buy a house right nearby.”
Morgan clears his throat.
“Fine. A house anywhere. My lord.” She casts a long look at Morgan, and then back to me. “I like him. He’s a keeper.”
I know, Grandma. I know.